For a long time, I thought being strong meant not bending. If plans changed, I pushed harder. If my body told me to slow down, I ignored it. If something didn’t go my way, I held on tighter. It took me a while to notice what that was costing me. The more rigid I got, the more things seemed to snap: my patience, my energy, sometimes my relationships. Then I started paying attention to trees on windy days. The ones that last aren’t the stiff ones. They sway. They give a little